


Matters of the Heart

by akitsuko



Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Love, Love Bites, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Edward looks ethereal in the firelight, with his sweet words and his bruised neck, and before Oswald knows what he's doing, he's leaning forward.There's something between them. Oswald can feel it. But they just can't seem to get the timing right.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001790
Comments: 15
Kudos: 99





	Matters of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> #2 - Almost kissing
> 
> Welcome to the second in my trope series! Apologies for any errors, it's one of the hazards of speed writing, especially using a phone with a dodgy autocorrect, haha.

It starts that night by the fire, when Oswald realises with a shock that he is in love. 

Edward has risked his life, just to protect Oswald and his reputation, and came so close to paying the ultimate price for it. It hardly bears thinking about, and yet it occupies Oswald's every thought. 

And there Edward is, sitting with the tea that Oswald made and wrapped up in Oswald's robe, telling Oswald that he would do anything for him. Nobody has ever said anything like that to Oswald before. Never has he had a friend so dear as Edward, and never has he been seized with such a possessive and all-consuming need to protect anyone as he is at this moment. He knows that he would do anything Edward might ask of him. He would hand Edward the world on a platter. 

It's terrifying, to be sure, but it's nothing compared to the urge he feels to kiss him. It's hard to resist. Edward looks ethereal in the firelight, with his sweet words and his bruised neck, and before Oswald knows what he's doing, he's leaning forward. 

His courage fails him at the last second, aborting the intended kiss instead to pull Edward into a tight hug. It's a relief to feel Edward's arms wind around him in return, and he revels in Edward's closeness, solidity, and warmth, despite his disappointment with his own cowardice. He never wants to let him go, and he privately swears that it'll be over his dead body that Edward comes to any future harm. 

The following days are filled with indecision for him. That, in itself, is an unfamiliar experience. Oswald tends to be incredibly decisive; whether it happens impulsively or on a more longitudinal scale, he rarely second-guesses himself. But this particular struggle is new and strange territory. He's never been in love before, and so has never needed to grapple with a love confession. 

It's more frustrating than he could have expected. 

By the time a week has passed, Oswald has lost count of his attempts to make his feelings known. Over and over, he's planned and steeled himself to tell Edward how deeply his affections run, but on every single occasion, the words have refused to come. 

He's tried telling Edward, point blank, to his face; but there's something about Edward's expression, so full of trust, that makes him lose his nerve. So he's also tried when he's not looking at Edward at all, and that only makes him more nervous, because he can't bear the idea of exposing his vulnerability so blindly. 

He's considered different methods. He's typed emails and drafted written letters to convey his feelings, but ultimately decided that these would be too distant and impersonal for such an important matter. He had flowers delivered to Edward's desk, hoping that the prop would spur him on, but couldn't bring himself to correct Edward's assumption that they had been purchased by a local business. He even had a few too many glasses of wine on purpose one evening, crossing his fingers that the alcohol would loosen his paralysed tongue, but it had not managed to serve its purpose before Edward helped him up to his room, a fond smile on his face, and instructed him to sleep it off. 

Frankly, he's running out of ideas, and it's starting to make him irritable in other areas of his life. No one around him is safe from his sudden outbursts of wrath - no one but Edward, that is, who he is always careful to shower with compliments and keep as close to his side as possible. It wouldn't do to drive him away, after all. 

In all honesty, he's sure he's being incredibly obvious, and he can't quite fathom how Edward has managed to remain oblivious. 

Some of the most difficult times are when Edward is helping him dress of a morning. He seems to have taken it under his wing as one of his Chief of Staff duties of his own accord, and Oswald very quickly decided that it would be a cold day in hell before he told Edward that it wasn't strictly necessary. 

This particular morning is miserable, wet, and grey. Oswald's leg is aching more than usual, which has already put him in a foul mood, although he's doing what he thinks is an admirable job of keeping his temper in check while Edward fusses around him. 

Edward seems to be aware of his pain somehow anyway, because he's pulled over a chair and instructed Oswald to sit down, citing a need for free access to adjust his sock garters and shoes. It's not something he normally does, but Oswald obliges, pretending not to notice whilst being quietly thankful for his diligence and his thoughtfulness. He really is a wonderful friend. 

Then, once the pain has had a chance to ease somewhat, Oswald is better able to focus on the image of Edward kneeling before him. And a lovely image it is, too. Oswald has spent rather a lot of his free time recently imagining the other things that Edward could be doing on his knees. 

Edward looks up at him, his hands resting on Oswald's good ankle, and no doubt catches the spaced out smile on Oswald's face before he has the presence of mind to put on a more neutral expression. 

"I took the liberty of relocating your meeting with Mr Tarrant this morning to your office here, to save you a trip into the city," he says, all business and professionalism. "Not possible with the ribbon cutting ceremony this afternoon, I'm afraid, but the rain is forecast to have eased off by then."

"Thank you, my friend." Oswald pours sincerity into his words. He knows that Edward is looking after him while trying not to be intrusive about it, and tactfully not mentioning the impact of his leg. "I don't know where I would be without you." 

Staring down at Edward as he is, he doesn't miss the way Edward's lips quirk upward in response to the praise. He's noticed that compliments are a sure fire way to bring a smile to Edward's face, so Oswald makes a point of drawing attention to his value as often as possible, and never holds back when he wants to make Edward aware of his own importance. 

"I'm sure you wouldn't struggle," Edward says, as he eases Oswald's foot into his shoe. "I'm hardly an integral part of your success."

"Edward." Leaning forward to make his point, Oswald finds himself much closer to Edward's face than he had anticipated. "You are invaluable to me. Never doubt that. No one else could bring to the table the same skills that you do, and certainly there is no one I would rather have at my side."

Edward looks up at him as if trying to ascertain whether he's being made fun of, a light shade of pink coming to his cheeks nevertheless. The look pains Oswald to see. He's well aware that Edward has spent a vast amount of his life being an outsider, and being the butt of jokes at the hands of school and workplace bullies alike. It's had a lasting impact on his ability to take compliments completely in his stride a lot of the time - a trait which Oswald has become determined to wrangle out of him by any means necessary. 

It's not fair that a creature so wonderful as Edward should have had to endure such cruelty. Still, it gives Oswald the opportunity to be the person who shows him what it can be like to be genuinely appreciated, and he hopes it will be reflected in Edward's opinion of him. 

"You're too kind to me," Edward finally says, his voice a little wary. He makes to stand back up, but Oswald stops him with both hands placed firmly on his shoulders. 

"Not at all," Oswald replies, silently willing Edward to hear the full truth of his feelings behind his words. He won't, of course, because he never does. So smart until it comes to matters of the heart. He's terribly obtuse for a genius. "You deserve every ounce of kindness I can possibly bestow."

Oswald sees the movement in Edward's throat as he swallows, and watches as his eyes flicker with indecision. The temptation is almost too much. He's close enough, close enough to reach, close enough that leaning forward just a tad would be enough to erase the distance between them. 

And god help him, he's about ready to convince himself that Edward wants him to. Because Edward is making no move to retreat, and his gaze flicks  _ just for a second  _ to Oswald's lips, and the air around them feels heavy with expectation. Oswald's heart beats harder against his ribcage. This is a moment for courage, for decisiveness, for action. And he makes the choice with deliberate resolution. 

But he stops, a fraction of a second later, because Edward ducks his head and clears his throat. Then, when he raises his head again, he's plastered on an expression of easy calm, and he pats Oswald's knee as he stands up. 

Oswald… isn't quite sure what has just happened, but his momentary courage has apparently evaporated into cowardice, so he awkwardly returns Edward's smile and accepts his outstretched hand to help himself stand up as well. The moment is gone, and they go about their daily business as normal. 

They don't talk about it. And, Oswald reasons, why would they? There's not a lot that one can say about something that didn't happen. Oh, but those few seconds of proximity, of something  _ about _ to happen, they occupy Oswald for the rest of his waking hours. His imagination, quite of its own accord, conjures scenarios of what might have been. What of Edward had allowed him to close that gap? To kiss him as he's only ever been able to in his dreams? Would Edward have kissed him back with equal fervour? Perhaps they would have kissed again and again and again. Or maybe they would have been overcome with desire and therefore progressed quickly from kissing, moving on to other physical pursuits together. 

And, well, those thoughts do a good job of derailing Oswald's flow during business meetings, and of causing him to zone out in the middle of conversations. He's not been unfortunate enough yet to be caught publicly with the lewdest of physical side effects of such thoughts, but it's embarrassing enough as it is, and it's surely only a matter of time before his luck runs out. 

But, only a few days later, the same thing happens again. Like before, it happens while Edward is helping Oswald to dress. It's closer to the evening this time, and Oswald will shortly be leaving for an important meeting-slash-display of power with some of the higher ups of Don Falcone's old faction. Edward is ensuring that he looks immaculately turned out. Presentation is an essential factor for success. 

Oswald fusses with his tie as he stands in front of the mirror. Try though he might, he can't get it to lie properly. Edward is standing close behind him, picking invisible bits of lint from the shoulders of his suit jacket. 

"You look marvellous, Oswald," he murmurs. 

Oswald wants to return the compliment tenfold. His first instinct is to wax lyrical about how wonderful Edward's forearms look with his shirt sleeves rolled up past the elbows like this, or about how it feels delightfully domestic to see his hair starting to curl out of its strict styling after a day of hard work, or about how the light hitting his cheekbones makes him look like a classic Hollywood movie star. 

Instead, he says, "I'd better. I can't have these imbeciles getting the idea that I don't mean business."

"I don't think that's something you need to worry about," Edward replies. "You've single-handedly earned your power. And now, as mayor, much of it is legitimate. I have to imagine that they've seen the remains of some who have crossed you."

"You're probably right," says Oswald, still distractedly fiddling with his tie. "Still, it's imperative that this meeting goes to plan. While I'm confident that they won't be able to overthrow me, they can definitely make my life difficult if they decide that they want to."

"If they do," Edward comes around to stand in front of him, blocking his view of his own reflection and brushing his hands aside to take over perfecting his tie, "we will figure something out. You are the formidable Penguin, after all. And I will also take it as a personal affront. I put a lot of work into your campaign, you know."

"That, you did." Oswald grins, because Edward is grinning too. 

"I'm not prepared to allow a few morons to derail everything you've worked towards. Everything  _ we've  _ worked towards." He smooths his hands down Oswald's lapels, allowing them to linger on the fabric. "There. Impeccable."

Oswald is still smiling when Edward meets his eyes, and a soft quiet falls over them both, the atmosphere shifting to the same one that's been plaguing Oswald's thoughts for days. It's familiar, as if they're picking up right where they left off. Edward's hands stay where they are, a light pressure against Oswald's chest. 

Neither of them seems to have any inclination to move away. 

After the last time, Oswald is feeling considerably less brave this time around, though he can hardly be blamed for that. Every movement of his head is minute, tilting closer by such a tiny margin that it could easily be explained away, more so than a more obvious invitation. His pulse picks up, blood thrumming through his veins, and Edward is inching closer too. It can't be his imagination. Surely his subconscious couldn't fake something like this. 

He holds his breath, waiting. 

And something loudly clatters in the room directly below them, followed by the muffled sound of Olga's Russian expletives. 

Oswald snaps back to reality as if the interruption has burned him, blinking a few times and feeling rather like he's been caught in a pair of headlights. Edward does much the same, standing back up straight and allowing his hands to drop back to hang loosely at his sides. 

"I should…" Oswald trails off uselessly. He gestures with his hands, hoping that they'll be more coherent than his mouth seems to be. "I should get going. It wouldn't do to be late!" 

He lets out a small laugh, sounding more nervous than he would like. It borders on mildly hysterical, in fact, and he holds back a cringe. 

Edward takes a step backwards, to a safer distance, and averts his gaze.

"Of course. I won't keep you. Best of luck, Oswald - not that you'll need it." And Edward doesn't wait for a response before he's using those long legs of his to stride out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving Oswald alone with his incredibly conflicted thoughts. 

He makes it through the meeting without any major issues. 

But it happens again and again. Every time he and Edward are in the same room, it seems, they end up sharing a moment that wouldn't be out of place in some cheesy romantic comedy. Oswald feels the anticipation build in his chest on every occasion, and then the bitter disappointment when, for one reason or another, nothing comes of it. Sometimes he is the one to lose his nerve, and pull away. Sometimes it's Edward, pretending that there was never anything about to happen in the first place. Sometimes it's just rotten luck. Circumstances getting in the way. 

He loses his temper in an explosive manner when an inconsequential member of his staff bursts into his office without knocking and interrupts such a moment. The man ought to consider himself lucky that he was allowed to leave with all of his limbs intact. 

And he really hopes he's not imagining Edward's reciprocal interest. Edward almost always seems to be showering him with small touches - to guide his direction, resting on his back whenever they stand side by side, making small adjustments to his clothes, fingers brushing against his whenever they're naturally close enough to do so. 

But he's vaguely cautious, nevertheless. He knows he has a tendency to be…  _ fanciful.  _ It's entirely possible that he's simply seeing what he wants to see, and bending the facts and reality to fit in with his hopes and dreams. And how humiliating that would be, if he were finally to cross this invisible boundary with Edward, only to find himself rebuffed and rejected. 

It's this that he's occupied with one evening, sitting at his desk with a mess of paperwork in front of him and a half empty bottle of red wine sitting to his left. As ever, when it comes to Edward, torn in two opposing directions. Do nothing, or take the plunge. There really is no in-between, and each has its downsides. 

He reads the words on one of the papers in front of him, but they have no meaning in his distracted state.

He's startled out of his thoughts when the man himself comes into his office, closing the door gently behind him, a large binder tucked under one arm. He doesn't attempt to fight the smile that comes to his face at the sight of him, particularly after a long day. 

Edward smiles back as he comes to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk, raising a quizzical eyebrow at the haphazard array of documents before opting to place his binder on the floor instead. Oswald guesses he will address its contents later. 

He doesn't miss the way Edward notices the wine, either. 

"You look like you could use a break," Edward says, and Oswald wants to swoon. His voice is like honey, the perfect antidote to stress. 

It does, unfortunately, also remind him of just how much work he still needs to finish tonight. "I don't have time. I need to get all this done before tomorrow."

"Well, you're not going to get anything done like this."

Edward scoops up all the papers, and Oswald doesn't stop him. He watches as Edward quickly sorts them into a form of order, and a minute or so later he places two neat, separate piles back on the desk. 

"These," he points to the first pile, "are the ones that require your most prompt attention. The others are cases of ticking boxes and adding signatures, which we can deal with over breakfast tomorrow."

Edward is a godsend. 

"Thank you. I have so much on my mind, it's difficult to focus on these administrative necessities."

"That's what you have me for," Edward says. "I'm in no way trying to imply that you can't handle it, but you're going to overwork yourself if you carry on like this for too long."

"I will be fine," Oswald dismisses the concern. "I signed up for this post fully aware of how much work would be involved. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes. Besides, I'm already… impaired. I can't give anyone any reason to believe I'm also incompetent."

Edward's expression becomes quite serious. "Oswald, your leg does not make you weak."

"That may be your belief, but you can't deny that it affects my public image."

"Yes," Edward agrees, "but it isn't as negative as you think. You've shown everyone what you can achieve despite the lasting effect of a traumatic injury. Don't you think that progressing through adversity like that demands respect? Trying to use it against you would be misguided and short-sighted, to say the least."

Edward's conviction warms the cockles of Oswald's heart as he pours himself more wine. 

"You put me on a pedestal," Oswald lightly accuses. "It continues to astound me."

"It's nothing less than you deserve," Edward tells him, flashing a small smile. "You've earned your place in the world. I expect I'll be learning from you for a very long time yet."

They stare at each other for several seconds longer than could be considered professional. Oswald is the one to look away, using his wine as a convenient excuse. 

Having now cleared some space on the desk, Edward picks up the binder from the floor and places it facing Oswald. "These are the plans for the charity gala next month," he says, and Oswald doesn't call him out when his voice cracks just audibly on the first word. "It includes the full guest list, the seating plan, the itinerary for the event, expenditure and projected fundraising totals, the security arrangements, including a map of the venue and a copy of the blueprints…" 

He keeps talking, detailing every aspect of the event that Oswald could possibly want to know, even as he stands up and comes around to Oswald's side of the desk. He stands close, bending to show Oswald the layout of the binder. Their shoulders brush. Edward's hair tickles Oswald's cheek. He can't concentrate on a single word Edward is saying, not while he's so near that his body heat seeps right through Oswald's suit. 

It's going to be the next in their series of almost-moments. Perhaps it's the wine, but the thought makes Oswald's chest ache with longing. He's not sure how much more of this his soul can take, of getting so close to what he wants and then having it ripped away from him in one way or another. He loves Edward so much that he can barely stand it. He wants to scream it at anybody who will listen, he wants to carve his poor heart out of his ribcage and offer it to Edward with both hands, just so that he will understand the depth of his feelings. 

His breath is shaky as he exhales, and he realises that he's clenched his fists on the desk. 

"Oswald?" Edward sounds worried. "What's wrong?" 

Oswald makes the mistake of turning his head, intending to look at Edward while he's speaking to him, but instead finding his face mere inches away. The words and reassurances die on his tongue as his mouth hangs open uselessly. Edward is stunning, so gorgeous it takes Oswald's breath away, and he's concerned, and he's right there, close enough to reach out and touch. 

He looks over Oswald's face, presumably for any clues about the odd behaviour, and Oswald almost whimpers when that gaze fixes on his lips for a second longer than anywhere else. It does, it  _ does _ . Oswald is sure of it. He can't be imagining it, because it would absolutely break him. 

Edward may have done terrible things in his past. He's kidnapped and framed and murdered. He seems to find it so easy to detach himself from his emotions. But Oswald refuses to believe that he could be the recipient of such coldness. Love or not, Edward cares about him, and he wouldn't mislead him like this. 

"Ed," he croaks, feeling his will collapse under the strain of holding himself back. 

And Edward stays, so close, his glasses starting to fog with their mingling breath. He has one hand on the back of Oswald's chair and the other leaning on the desk, effectively making Oswald feel caged in, unable to run away this time. Something is different about this time. Edward isn't letting him go, and doesn't seem prepared to allow him escape. It's late enough that no one is around to interrupt them. In his guts, Oswald can tell that, after all their aborted attempts, this moment is a pivotal one for them both. 

It's a moment for courage. 

After one final glance at Edward's mouth, Oswald leans in and kisses him. Doesn't give himself the opportunity to second-guess it, closes his eyes to save himself from seeing the likely shock on Edward's face. 

But, dear God, it's without a doubt the most amazing thing he's ever experienced. Kissing the person he cares about most in all the world, the man he loves, it cements everything his mother ever told him about finding true love. This is it, for him. It's Edward, and it will always be Edward. Even if Edward pushes him away now, even if he's read this situation completely wrong and Edward never wants to see him again, he knows with certainty that his feelings are never going to change. And, at least, he will always be able to carry this memory of Edward's lips, soft against his own. It's heavenly. 

Then, just as he's on the verge of pulling away and grovelling for forgiveness, Edward leans into him and returns the pressure. It takes the kiss from heavenly to the realm of perfection. Relief and joy rush through Oswald's system, and for a blissful moment, he's able to imagine that there's nothing in the world but this. 

Slowly, Edward's hand moves from the chair to slide around behind Oswald's neck. Oswald's skin tingles under the touch. He wants to take a deep breath but he's utterly unwilling to part from Edward now that he finally has him. He will suffocate first. 

A moan rises, unbidden, out of his throat, vibrating against Edward's lips, and it seems to break down a dam in Edward's self control. Suddenly he's hungry. His kisses are bruising and passionate, he's pushing his whole body so close that he's practically in Oswald's lap, his fingers are tangling in the hair at the nape of Oswald's neck and tugging at it firmly enough to border on the edge of painful. 

Oswald loses the ability to think, and operates on touch and desire alone. He gives as good as he gets, or at least he tries to, meeting Edward kiss for kiss, both hands cupping at his jaw to make sure he doesn't try to move too far away. His face feels hot, his body is on fire, he craves Edward like he's never craved anything before in his life. He tastes minty. The scent of his cologne fills Oswald's senses and drives him crazy. 

Oswald has to consciously stop himself from clutching too tightly, no matter how much he likes the idea of seeing his finger marks bruised into Edward's skin. 

Though Edward seems to have no such qualms. He digs his nails into the back of Oswald's neck, surely leaving crescent-shaped indents, and his sharp teeth nip at Oswald's lips every chance they get. 

Finally, they come apart, gasping simultaneously. They share the air in the space between them. Oswald's chest heaves with the depth of his breaths, his lips tingling and sensitive, refusing to relinquish his grip on Edward's jaws. And it isn't only him; Edward still has his nails embedded in his skin. He's not loosened his grip in the slightest. His eyes are so dark they look almost black, glazed over, eyelids hooded. There's a flush high on his cheekbones, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips as he fights just as hard to catch his breath. 

Oswald is quite sure he's never seen anything so beautiful. 

"Oswald," Edward says, though his voice is low and quiet. "Are you… Is this…" 

He seems incapable of finishing his sentence, but Oswald thinks he knows what he means. After so much time spent literally flirting around this, it's almost difficult to believe that they've managed to overcome the invisible hurdle that seemed to be there. He half expects to wake up at any moment, alone and deflated. 

"I love you." The confession slips out of him without his permission. He's tried so many times to say those words to Edward on purpose, but now he wishes he could take them back, because Edward's eyes widen and he looks like he might try to run for the hills. For a terrible moment, Oswald thinks that perhaps he really has misunderstood. He's been under the impression that if Edward wants him, then his deeper feelings must surely be the same as Oswald's, but he hadn't considered the possibility that Edward was merely feeling lust, and nothing else. 

And that is truly terrifying. It's the realisation that he's just made himself completely vulnerable to what could very well be an awkward rejection, that he's just given Edward everything he has to offer but that Edward might not want any of it. 

But Edward, wonderful Edward, doesn't let that panic truly set in. He gently eases his nails out of Oswald's skin, which stings, but then his fingertips are stroking lightly over that same area. He's still not allowing Oswald to run. 

"Oh, thank heavens," he says, and before Oswald has even had a chance to process it, Edward's mouth is devouring his own again. His brain shuts down again, having not managed to fully reboot after the first kiss anyway. He can't be expected to think rationally while Edward's tongue is licking at the seam between his lips, or while Edward's nails are dragging along his scalp. 

He allows Edward's tongue into his mouth. It's messy and inexpertly conducted, to be sure, but Oswald can't get enough. He bites down on Edward's lip, drawing a fantastic sound out of him, so he does it again and again until Edward is a whimpering mess. 

By the time they come apart this time, they're clinging to each other, and there can be no doubt about the direction that this is heading. 

"I love you too, Oswald," Edward whispers against his mouth. "I love you. Don't stop."

Oswald couldn't resist a demand like that from Edward for anything. He hauls him around, manhandling him until he's fully situated in his lap, room enough for both of them in the oversized chair, before dragging his head back down to kiss him again. 

His free hand slips under Edward's suit jacket and strokes up and down his back. He revels in the feeling of warm skin, and muscles and bones, under the fabric of his shirt. And Edward still kisses him like a man starving for it. His hands move down Oswald's neck, playing at his collar and toe for a moment before sliding lower, his palms coming to rest against his torso. Oswald can feel his nails again, through his own clothes, dragging against him and it feels exquisite. Using his grip on Edward's back, he pulls him closer still, encouraging him to press their bodies together as fully as possible in their position. 

Edward happily obliges, lowering his hips until his ass is resting on Oswald's thighs, arching his back to achieve as much bodily contact as he can. Then he tears himself away from Oswald's mouth to kiss along his jaw and down his carotid artery instead. His lips close around a choice spot, and he sucks, hard. 

Oswald jerks upwards, his eyes flying wide open, and he makes a high-pitched sound that he didn't even know he was capable of. His entire focus narrows to that one spot, and Edward doesn't relent, alternating his lips and his teeth and his tongue until Oswald's legs are kicking under the desk and his entire body is squirming. And when he eventually does let go, licking over the spot and no doubt leaving a dark hickey behind, Oswald becomes aware that his pants are feeling far too tight. 

He dreads to think what he must look like. A vision of debauchery. But he can't help that Edward has so easily managed to reduce him to a creature of base desires. With a growl and a fist in Edward's hair, he yanks the man's head back up, leaning in to return the favour. It's hardly fair that he should be the only one to come out of this encounter with a souvenir. 

Edward's skin tastes clean and divine, and he's so much more vocal than Oswald has imagined. Every breath comes out in a whine as Oswald sinks his teeth into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, having taken a moment to rip open the first few buttons of his shirt in order to make space. He tilts his head to allow even better access, and Oswald takes the invitation gleefully, indulging them both and using every tool at his mouth's disposal to ensure that Edward is just as affected as he is. 

Then Edward groans, loud and unashamed, and Oswalds whole body quivers sympathetically. 

Edward loves him.  _ Edward loves him.  _

He abandons Edward's neck, needing his mouth again, feeling as though he might die without him. Edward meets him, his lips parted and eager, and his hands work clumsily at the buttons of Oswald's shirt. If Oswald were more coherent, he might exhibit a level of smugness at having rendered the normally precise man to a level of fumbling, but all he cares about is keeping Edward against him and never allowing him to leave his side again. 

They break apart, so Edward can better focus on the buttons in front of him, and Oswald similarly starts making an effort on divesting Edward of his clothing. 

"Do you mean it?" he asks, inwardly hating how small and unsure his voice sounds. 

Edward answers with a certainty that allays his fears instantly. "Of course I mean it. I thought you knew."

He gets Oswald's shirt open and his hands are on Oswald's bare skin, trailing through sparse hair, tracing the outlines of his ribs, the protrusions of scars both old and recent, and every smooth part in between. Oswald has never been in such a hurry to undress someone in his life. He can't get Edward's shirt off quickly enough. When he gets there, finally, his first port of call is to tweak Edward's nipples with his thumbs, eliciting a lovely, sharp inhale. 

"You're beautiful, Ed."

They have to cooperate to succeed with further undressing, but they get there, and Oswald's brain short-circuits when he gets his hand wrapped around Edward's bare cock for the first time. It's heavy and hard and hot, and there's a wet spot at the tip. His mouth waters, and words elude him as he strokes slowly, watching Edward closely to assess his reactions. 

Edward is making little thrusts up into his hand, chasing him every time he pulls too far away and sighing in relief when the warmth of Oswald's hand returns to encircle him. His face is a wonder to watch, so expressive, such a departure from his usual schooled features. He bares his teeth, swallows back saliva, and when he can't stay upright any longer, he drops to rest his forehead against Oswald's. 

Oswald lets go, despite Edward's unhappy grunt of protest, and brings his hand up to lick his palm before returning it and starting up a steady pace. Edward melts into him, mewing against his mouth as his face contorts with pleasure. 

Now, Oswald has a goal. He wants to see what Edward looks like when he comes. He needs the sight of it to be etched into his memory for all eternity, and he doesn't have it in him to be patient about it, not with the amount of tension that's been building between them. He rubs his thumb over the leaking head with every stroke, hoping that the things he enjoys doing to himself will also work for Edward. 

And it does seem to work, or maybe it just appears that way because the build-up has had them both on edge. Either way, soon Edward's breath is little more than harsh panting, and every groan is long and drawn out. 

"Os…" He sounds broken. "I'm close, Oswald, oh-" 

Oswald holds him tighter, kisses him wherever he can reach while he keeps the pace of his hand. "Wanna see you," he grinds out into Edward's cheek. Then he leans forward further and latches his teeth onto Edward's earlobe. 

Edward loses it. He moans, a high and desperate pitch that is music to Oswald's ears, and jerks in Oswald's hold as his legs tremble. As Oswald feels the stickiness of his release spilling over his fingers, he comes back to make sure he gets a good look at Edward's face. 

As expected, he looks divine. 

Quickly, Edward pulls him into a forceful and sloppy kiss as he rides out the tail end of his orgasm. Oswald's eyes close as he savours the moment. He knows that if he were to die right now, he would die a happy man. 

Edward gives him no time to bask, however, because the moment he has recovered some of his senses he's attacking the fastenings of Oswald's trousers. There's a dark hunger in his face, and he's not the least bit gentle when he pulls Oswald's cock free. At the first touch of his hand, Oswald's head falls to the back of the chair with a thunk. 

It's better than he dared to dream, because it's not just the physical sensation. It's the knowledge that this is Edward, and that Edward wants to do this for him, that he's doing it freely and willingly. It's knowing that Edward desires him just as much as that desire is reciprocated. It adds something indescribable to the experience, and it has him feeling the start of a building orgasm the moment that Edward starts to move. 

He doesn't want to embarrass himself, but he's not convinced that he will be able to hold back for long. 

And Edward acts as though he has no intention of letting him hold back. Those elegant fingers grip him like a pro, his hand moving along Oswald's length with a rhythm that has Oswald straining not to thrash around in his seat. 

"Ed…" He means to say more, something heartfelt, but the rest of his words dissolve into wanton, lustful moans.

"Come on, Oswald," Edward encourages. 

The sound of his voice, already more under control, is all it takes to send Oswald hurtling over the edge. His vision whites out as his eyes roll back in his head, shaking against Edward as he comes over his hand and his own stomach. 

When his awareness returns, he realises just how clammy with sweat his skin is, and how thoroughly wrecked and exhausted he feels. The weight of Edward, slumped in his lap, is something he never wants to lose. He idly strokes over Edward's hip bones. They share Oswald's chair like that for what feels like a short eternity. 

Eventually, with a heavy sigh, Edward heaves himself upright. Oswald can't help but smirk at the ruined sight he makes. Though he worries that Edward is about to make a hasty escape, the man makes no effort to move any further, only wiping his soiled hand on his trouser leg in an uncharacteristic move of laziness. 

Oswald feels compelled to break the silence. "Should we… talk about this?" 

His fingers tighten on Edward's hips even as he says it. The last thing he wants is to break the spell and lead Edward to realise that he's just made a terrible mistake. 

"What's to say?" Edward replies. "I don't regret it, if that's what you mean."

Honestly, Oswald isn't sure what to say. 

And when Edward leans forward to kiss him again, gentle and reassuring, he wonders whether words matter at all. 


End file.
